


pushing on a pull door

by breakingbowties



Series: yellow brick road [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Blaine Anderson Has Bad Parents, Early Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Gen, Good Parent Burt Hummel, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protective Burt Hummel, Protective Kurt Hummel, ongoing series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 21:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingbowties/pseuds/breakingbowties
Summary: Blaine chopped out chunks of the truth with a machete when he spoke of his past, dodged the limelight like a bullet if he wasn’t onstage, and skirted around the edges of an honest answer to every variation ofhow are you, how have you been, how's your family?Kurt didn’t notice.Burt did.-----In which Blaine Anderson cares too much and tries too hard, and Burt Hummel sees right through his bullshit.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson & Burt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Burt Hummel & Kurt Hummel
Series: yellow brick road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210286
Comments: 26
Kudos: 58





	pushing on a pull door

Burt wasn’t a big fan of this Blaine kid.

He couldn’t put his finger on exactly why - except maybe the fact that he’d found him hungover in his son’s bed, and the whole sex talk thing - but there was _something_. Something else. Trying to figure out what, however, felt a lot like trying to catch mist.

It wasn’t like he was actively trying to destroy his son’s first relationship. He’d meant it when he told Kurt he wanted him to be able to experience everything, and he didn’t have a problem with Kurt dating. 

He just had a problem with Kurt dating this particular boy. 

A boy who was respectful and courteous to a fault. A boy who was far too dapper and polite for any of it to be real. A boy who never spoke about himself, who turned every question toward him around to someone else with such subtlety that Burt could tell he'd had lots of practice. A boy who was so...secretive. 

Blaine chopped out chunks of the truth with a machete when he spoke of his past, dodged the limelight like a bullet if he wasn’t onstage, and skirted around the edges of an honest answer to every variation of _how are you, how have you been, how's your family?_

Kurt didn’t notice.

Burt did.

* * *

It was the excessive politeness and insistence on etiquette, which was, frankly, unbecoming of a teenager, that hit him first. 

Burt was perfectly aware that Dalton was intended to be a school full of boys exactly like Blaine, and that his own mismatched little family wasn’t the typical kind found around there. But he also knew his son. Kurt would never fall for a boy who was all pretenses and no substance. Kurt didn’t _do_ pretenses. He’d always seen right through them - an ability inherited from his mother.

This truth only served to confuse and somewhat infuriate him the first time Blaine (properly, non-drunkenly) visited the Hudson-Hummel house. 

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Hudson," the boy said, all smiles and courteous nods as he wiped his shoes on the doormat and hung his coat carefully on the hooks in the entrance. 

Carole, who had spent the last hour forcing a grumbling Finn to help her and Kurt mop, vacuum, and dust every damn inch of the place, beamed wide. "Oh, thank you, honey! But none of that 'Mrs. Hudson' nonsense. You can just call me Carole." 

"I don't think my mom would approve of that," Blaine said, but his face was bright.

Carole winked. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

(Burt grumbled to her later that night, once Blaine had left and the boys were in their rooms, that maybe they shouldn't be encouraging their son's boyfriend to keep secrets from adults. Carole told him that Blaine was a perfectly nice boy and to quit being such an ass.)

This was the same boy who got shitfaced enough that Kurt, with his golden heart and all, had to drag him home and give up his own bed (at least Burt _hoped_ he'd given up his bed instead of crashing with him). The same kid who'd been weirdly pushy about Kurt receiving a sex talk. And now, here he was again, the perfect image of a kid who'd never do anything of the sort. Burt thought he had every right to be a little suspicious. 

"Nice to see you again, Blaine." Burt stepped forward with one hand extended, his voice gruff but still rather neutral, he thought, given the circumstances. 

Blaine's smile faltered ever so slightly. "You, too, Mr. Hummel. Thank you so much for having me over."

"Uh-huh," Burt said. Carole, who had returned to his side, elbowed his ribs none too gently. Burt cleared his throat. "And, uh. Call me Burt." 

“Of course, Burt,” Blaine said, perfectly polite, still smiling his perfectly-whitened, rich-kid smile. 

And that was as far as he got with the kid - no interrogation, no real grilling, _nothing_ \- before a bedroom door creaked open and a familiar pair of footsteps rushed down the stairs. Kurt stopped short on the bottom step, eyes not so much as flickering toward his parents.

“Blaine,” he said, grinning and a little breathless, and Burt immediately noticed his son had changed clothes in the fifteen minutes since he’d last seen him. This outfit seemed...nicer. More upscale. 

Blaine was in an equal stupor. “Hi. Kurt. Hey.”

As if they’d needed the greeting to break the ice, they approached each other and fell into a tight hug the instant the words left Blaine’s mouth. Like they hadn’t seen each other in months. Like they hadn’t just seen each other at school three hours ago.

“Kurt,” Burt said, and he couldn’t deny the bit of satisfaction he felt when the boys jumped and quickly separated, eyes wide, as if they’d forgotten they weren’t alone. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your brother? I’m sure Blaine wouldn’t mind helping us set the table.”

“That’s a good idea,” Carole said. “Dinner’s just about ready. Blaine and _I_ will set the table. Burt, can you take the lasagna out of the oven and grab the salad from the fridge?”

Burt shifted his jaw. “Of course I can.”

Blaine dutifully made himself busy, helping Carole gather plates, glasses, and silverware as Burt slipped on two mismatched oven mitts. He didn’t miss the pointed look his wife shot him as she and Blaine rounded the corner from the kitchen into the dining room. Burt sighed. He was going to pay for this later. 

It was worth it, though, to get a read on this boy - to protect his son. Kurt was always worth it.

By the time he entered the dining room with the lasagna dish and two potholders to set it on, Finn and Kurt had joined in on the table-setting. As Finn chatted aimlessly to Carole about that afternoon’s football practice, Burt’s eyes were drawn to Kurt and Blaine, making their way around the table with silverware and napkins. They worked together as a unit; like a well-oiled machine. They just... _worked_.

He didn’t like it.

“Burt?” Carole asked, and Burt’s head shot up to meet her gaze. She raised her eyebrows. “The salad?”

Burt, standing there like a bumbling fool with the oven mitts still on and nothing in his hands, turned back toward the kitchen, pulling off the mitts as he went. “Right. Salad. Got it.”

Dinner went - surprisingly well. Much smoother than he’d thought it would. Mostly because he himself was on his best behavior, for Kurt’s sake. He did manage to get a few good questions in, though ( _what do your parents do?_ Lawyers. _Any siblings?_ Older brother. _You ever been arrested?_ Oh, my God, Dad, stop interrogating him!).

Kurt’s hastiness to shove that last question out of frame before Blaine could answer it smelled pretty fishy to Burt. 

Once the table had been cleared and the dishwasher started, Carole suggested a movie in the living room. Burt’s heart sank at the prospect. On one hand, he didn’t want this kid in his home and within Kurt’s reach any longer than necessary until he settled on an opinion of him. Nevermind the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do about them spending time together at Dalton, and also the fact that Kurt would most definitely just go behind his back if he tried to forbid anything. 

But on the other hand, this was a great opportunity for observation. 

Would Blaine try to get handsy in the darkened living room when he thought nobody was looking? (Operative word being _try_ , because Burt would kick the boy out on his ass if he dared to pressure his son.) Would he complain about the movie choice if they let Kurt pick?

A lot of information could be gained. Plenty enough to tell one way or another whether Blaine deserved this space in Kurt’s life and heart.

So he said, “A movie sounds great. Kurt, you wanna pick?”

Kurt, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, chose _Moulin Rouge_. 

Finn was the only one to grumble. 

Blaine sat patiently on the couch until Kurt returned from starting up the DVD player, them immediately snuggled up when Kurt wrapped an arm around his waist, head of gelled curls falling to rest on his shoulder. 

They stayed that way the whole movie.

No pressuring. No wandering hands. Just his head on Kurt’s shoulder, occasionally nuzzling closer, and Kurt’s fingers tracing meaningless patterns against Blaine’s side and arm. Just Blaine’s face relaxing and eyelids fluttering. Just Kurt glancing down halfway through the movie and breaking out into a fond smile at the sight of his half-asleep boyfriend. 

Just - _nothing_. Just nothing. Perfectly respectful and, dare he think it, sweet. And nothing after the movie, either. Kurt gently stirred Blaine awake, waved away his blushing apology for having fallen asleep, and asked about five thousand times if he was _sure_ he wasn’t too tired to make the drive home. A kiss on the cheek in the open doorway from both of them and then Blaine was gone, and Kurt was on his way up the stairs behind Finn, both of them offering some variation of _love you_ and _goodnight_ to their parents as they went.

“I can’t believe he let him sleep through _Moulin Rouge_ ,” Burt said darkly, arms crossed over his chest. “He would never have let any of us get away with that.”

And it was true. Kurt had shaken him awake during many a musical, insistent that he was missing the best part - apparently, in Kurt’s mind, every part was the best part. 

Carole raised her eyebrows, her expression one of pure disbelief. “Right. Because that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Yes, actually. It is.”

“Just that? And not the fact that - oh, I don’t know - you’re being forced to accept the fact that your little boy isn’t such a little boy anymore?”

“No. That’s ridiculous.” Burt felt a spark of righteous indignation. He knew exactly what he was feeling, and he knew exactly why. “I just...don’t like that they’ve gotten so close already. We don’t really know anything about this kid.”

How well did _Kurt_ know Blaine? How much more did he know than they did? Did he know Blaine at all?

Or did he just think he did?

“We don’t need to,” Carole said simply, and Burt shot her an incredulous look. She sighed. “We will, Burt. In time. Kurt is smart - you did a fantastic job with him. Now you just have to trust him to make the right choices.”

Trust teenage boys to make the right choices his _ass_. 

* * *

The next time Blaine came to the house, Burt was absolutely giddy. 

Because Blaine was there to pick Kurt up for a Saturday night dinner date. Because Kurt was still up in his room getting ready when a knock sounded at the front door. Because Blaine was ten minutes early, and Kurt had no idea. And all of that added up to this: for the first time, he had an opportunity to sit this Anderson kid down for a long-overdue talk.

Carole was definitely going to kill him.

(Still worth it.)

Burt swung the door open, a genuine grin on his face. “Hey, kid.”

Blaine’s smile, on the other hand, faltered, and the rose bouquet in his hand was lowered a few inches. His effort to straighten himself back up was visible. He’d clearly been expecting somebody else to answer. 

“Oh!” He said, voice higher than Burt remembered. “H-hey, Mr. Hummel - sorry, uh, Burt. I’m - supposed to be picking up Kurt…”

“Yep. He’s still getting ready. You’re early.” Burt opened the door wider and nodded toward the living room. “Why don’t you come in and wait for him? There’s a hockey game on.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah. Sure. Who’s playing?”

“Blue Jackets and the Lightning.” He led Blaine into the living room, keeping a watchful eye out as he spoke. Burt settled easily into his recliner. Blaine perched uncomfortably on the very edge of a couch cushion and let his gaze flicker from Burt to the television, bouquet held awkwardly in his lap. “Lightning are leading two to one.”

“Not much of a surprise. They’ve been way better than Columbus this season.”

“Don’t let Finn hear you say that. Those are fighting words.”

“Home team doesn’t always mean the best team.”

“Loyalty matters.”

Blaine tore his eyes away from the screen to give Burt a startled look that pierced right through him, and Burt knew he understood that they were no longer talking about hockey.

“It does,” the kid said slowly, body drawn visibly tight. The hand not holding the roses moved to clutch at his side, arm across his torso as if he could hide behind it. Hazel eyes slowly tracked back to the television. “Of course it does.”

“Just making sure.” Burt shrugged. “I told Kurt the same thing, you know.”

He hadn’t. Maybe he should. But he didn’t particularly feel like he needed to. Kurt was a good kid. The _best_ kid.

Blaine?

Still undecided.

“Of course,” Blaine said, humble, respectful - somewhat muted. “I know you did. You’re a good dad.”

Flattery would get him nowhere, but Burt could appreciate a compliment nonetheless. “Thanks. What about your parents?”

Blaine looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights. “Are they...good parents?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of whether or not my son’s gotten to meet them yet.” Burt eyed him. “But, yeah. Sure. Are they?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Good.”

“And, no, he hasn’t. They’re pretty busy. So.”

“Okay.” Burt cleared his throat and reached for the remote as Kurt’s bedroom door creaked open upstairs, turning up the volume in an attempt to make it look like they’d been focused on the game all along. “I guess that’s really none of my business, anyway.”

“What’s none of your business?” Kurt asked from the bottom step of the staircase, voice a sharp bite, and Burt tried very hard not to look like he’d just been caught red-handed, even though he had.

“Nothing,” Blaine said. He jumped to his feet and held out the bouquet. “You look dashing as always.”

Kurt’s face softened significantly at the sight of the flowers, but he still shot Burt one last, knowing glare before he accepted them and said, “They’re beautiful, Blaine. Thank you. Come to the kitchen and help me pick out a vase?”

All the tension drained from Blaine’s shoulders at once. “Sure.”

Kurt pulled Blaine out of the house five minutes later without uttering a single word. Burt heard him loud and clear.

* * *

That Wednesday afternoon, Kurt offered to help out at the shop.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence - or, at least, it used to not be. He hadn’t had nearly as much free time since he started at Dalton, what with the long drive to and from Westerville and all the extra hours he’d been spending with his new best friend turned boyfriend. It was nice to see him taking an interest in the shop again.

Burt should have known better.

At some point, he walked by his son, who was mid-tire change, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration, and asked, “So how much money do you need this time?”

Jokingly. It was a _joke_.

But Kurt straightened up, looking sheepish. He ducked his head against his shoulder to remove a trickle of sweat from his temple - how that kid walked away from every shift without a single smudge of grime on his face, Burt would never understand.

“Actually,” Kurt said, “I know I already get ten an hour, but - I was wondering if maybe I could have a bonus this time? Like a ‘wow, my son is really fantastic’ kind of bonus?”

“I _would_.” Burt jerked his head in the general direction of Finn, who was finishing up an oil change on the other end of the shop. “But then I’d have to give your brother one, too, and money-”

“-doesn’t grow on trees,” Kurt finished with a sigh, turning back to his work. “I know.”

The defeated expression on his face set off the blaring red warning lights that came installed with parenthood. Burt’s curiosity bit at the tip of his tongue, and he couldn’t help himself.

“Why do you need a son-bonus so bad?”

Kurt avoided his eyes, clearly embarrassed. His hands moved slower. “I just wanted to surprise Blaine this weekend by taking him somewhere nicer than Breadstix. He always pays, and buys me flowers, and I just - feel bad. That I never do anything for him.”

“I’m sure you do plenty of nice things for him.” _And he’d damn well better be grateful._

“You know what I mean.”

And maybe the wave of indignance that washed over Burt in that moment was unjustified - but, once again, he found that he couldn’t help himself. 

“Who says you have to buy him things?” He demanded, voice a sharp rap. “Is he saying you have to? He’s your first boyfriend, Kurt. You don’t owe him anything.”

Kurt’s head snapped up, eyes boring into him with shock, confusion, and something that verged on anger. 

“Of course he isn’t,” he snapped back, now equally as indignant. “God, what is your problem with Blaine, anyway? He’s been nothing but nice to you. The least you can do is be _civil_.”

“I have been,” Burt said, but they both knew that wasn’t true. “But just think about it, Kurt. How well do you really know him? He never says a damn word about himself. That doesn’t - I don’t know - set off alarm bells in your head?”

“He never says a word about himself to _you_.”

Burt paused. “That’s not-”

“Has it occurred to you,” Kurt said, the thin strand of self-control stretched over his anger visibly close to breaking, “that maybe Blaine tells his _boyfriend_ more about himself than his boyfriend’s dad? Has that even once crossed your mind?”

And he had no response. Because, honestly, it hadn’t.

He settled for a lame, half-hearted, “I’m just trying to look out for you, bud.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“And you’ll never have to. I’m your dad. That’s my job.”

“You know what?” Kurt jutted his chin out, head tilted high. Burt saw his hands shaking, and he knew it was from anger. “I think my shift is over. I’ll see you at home.”

Burt could have ordered him to stop, exercised his authority as a parent, told Kurt to get back over here and complete the work he’d already committed to, to stop being so damn disrespectful. 

He watched him go in silence instead.

* * *

It was a few weeks before Burt saw Blaine again.

He didn’t come to the Hudson-Hummel house anymore. Kurt transferred back to McKinley, but still chose to make the drive to Westerville several times a week and never brought Blaine back in tow.

Burt knew exactly why. Carole did, too, though she never said as much aloud (her pursed lips and the pointed looks she threw her husband whenever Kurt left the house, a hasty goodbye thrown over his shoulder, were communication enough).

He still didn’t like the idea of Kurt and Blaine out there in the world alone, an hour and a half drive’s distance from him, potentially getting into only God knew what kind of trouble while he sat at home none the wiser. But he would be lying if he said the distance hadn’t given him plenty of time to do some much-needed introspection.

Being wrong sucked a whole damn lot.

There was a knock at the door. Burt stayed seated in his recliner. As expected, Kurt was quick to barrel down the stairs. His son did a double take and shot him a curious look, which Burt saw out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to watch the game. It was clear what he was thinking: Burt was perfectly aware that Blaine was coming to pick Kurt up, but he hadn't jumped at the opportunity to terrorize him before Kurt could drag him away. That was unusual. Outside his MO.

Yeah. Well. People could change. 

But Burt did stand before they could leave, making his way slowly to the front door. Kurt stopped short in the middle of a sentence to his boyfriend, giving Burt a wary look.

"Don't worry," he said icily. "We're about to leave." 

"Alright." Burt nodded toward Blaine. "Good to see you again, kid."

Blaine searched his face for a moment. Searched for any hint of malice. "You, too, sir."

"You can come over anytime. You're welcome in my house. You know that, right?"

Both boys looked like their eyes were ready to fall out of their sockets. They shared a glance that communicated more than what Burt could possibly see on the surface level; the closest people could come to telepathy. 

Kind of exactly the way he and Carole shared wordless glances, because they knew each other well enough to interpret them. 

"Yeah," Blaine finally said, slow and unsure. "Of course. Thank you, Burt."

"Yeah, Dad." Kurt's voice was quiet, a little hint of emotion peeking through. "We know. Thank you."

As they turned to leave, Blaine already back out on the front porch and Kurt turning to grab his coat, Burt pulled a few twenties from his pocket and pressed them into Kurt's hand. 

"Your son-bonus," he said simply. "Just don't tell your brother."

"Thank you," Kurt said again. He really did look like he might cry this time. "You're a good dad." 

"I know. Have fun. And be safe, alright?"

There was still a knot of uneasiness in his gut as he watched them climb into Blaine's car and drive off from the window. Burt took a deep breath and pushed it down. 

They were both pretty good kids.

**Author's Note:**

> [i'm on tumblr! come scream at me!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> credit where credit is due: the title of this fic comes from the song of the same name by for king & country
> 
> this fic is the first in a series, so if you enjoyed it, please consider subscribing to the series and leaving a comment!


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